Thanksgiving
by Mummyluvr
Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, and Cas isn’t going to let Dean spend his dinner alone. It's Gen!


**Title:** Thanksgiving

**Summary:** It's Thanksgiving, and Cas isn't going to let Dean spend his dinner alone.

**Rating:** PG for language

**A/N:** This was supposed to be a one-shot, you guys *facepalm* but, hey, I wanted to write something for the holidays that wasn't slash, and I accomplished that. Yay me!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters. They belong to Kripke. Darn it.

* * *

Thanksgiving

The small table was covered in paper plates, Oscar Mayer lunchmeat, sliced white bread, and mashed potatoes and gravy from the nearest KFC. Dean tore into the packaging, ripping open the plastic without giving it a second thought. He was hungry, _starving_ even, and he needed food. Never mind that he was alone again.

"Just another Winchester family holiday," he muttered to himself, slapping thin slices of cold turkey onto the bread. It was just like most Christmases, like most birthdays, like every other Thanksgiving he'd ever had. Except this time, Sam wasn't there.

The younger Winchester brother claimed to have business elsewhere, probably with Ruby. Fitting that the happy couple should spend their first Thanksgiving together, leaving Dean all alone in some cold motel room.

"What are you doing?"

Dean jumped and spun in his chair. "What the Hell are you doing here?"

Castiel blinked- something that Dean had to admit he didn't see too often- and stepped from the shadows. "I'm sorry if I came at an inconvenient time. It's just… you were lonely."

"I was…? You reading my mind now, Cas?"

"I never stopped."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Not something you're gonna want to tell people if you wanna keep that pretty face of yours intact, buddy." The angel stared at him. "Sit down."

He did as he was told, joining the hunter at the table. "What are you doing?"

"Eating," Dean answered simply.

"You usually go out to do that."

The hunter leaned forward in his chair, staring at his companion. "You've been watching me, reading my mind. Anything else I should know?"

"Where's Sam?"

Dean smiled. "Nice diversion. Looks like I'm rubbing off. He's, um, out. Or something. Probably eating."

"With the demon." It wasn't a question, so Dean assumed that his theory about Sam's company was true.

"Apparently. She's not so bad, you know. Saved his life."

"You should watch yourself around her. Her motives are not known."

"Yeah, well, neither are yours."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, confused. "I have never lied to you."

"You haven't exactly told the whole truth, either."

"You want to know the secrets of the universe, Dean?"

"I want to know why I'm here."

The angel smiled, an expression Dean wasn't used to seeing on his borrowed face, one that made him look human for once. "All things in time."

Dean nodded. "Figures. You eat?"

"Of course."

He fixed another plate and slid it across the fake wood to the angel. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"What?"

"It's Thanksgiving."

That perplexed look- brow furrowed, eyes dark, head cocked like a puppy after it hears an interesting noise. "Yes. What is that?"

"The holiday? The one we're celebrating? It's today."

"But-"

"Look," Dean said, pushing his mashed potatoes around on his plate as he tried to think of the best way to explain something that he'd taken as common knowledge for most of his life. "A long time ago some English dudes landed in, like, Massachusetts, or wherever to settle the New World, which is just a fancy name for America. Then they ran out of food and the Indians, who are actually the Native Americans, helped them out and they had a big feast to celebrate and give thanks to God and all that good stuff. Got it?"

Castiel nodded. "I can identify with that."

"Good. Because the story goes on to have all the English dudes kill the Indians for land and stuff." He smiled. "Bet you can identify with the merciless slaughter of thousands of innocent people, too, can't you?"

"I am aware of your people's history, Dean. I know what happened. It was truly horrible. America's history is a bloody one. All history is bloody. But you can't compare me with the settlers."

"Why not? They only eliminated the competition."

"I do not kill for the gain of territory or for sport or for the sake of Manifest Destiny. I… I have _never_ killed, actually."

Dean stopped what he was doing, a half-eaten turkey sandwich held at his lips. "Never?"

"No. I was not made to be a soldier."

"I thought you said…"

"This war has been going on since the Fall of Lucifer, Dean," the angel said. "The fighting never stopped, not really. Our forces finally became so depleted that all available angels were called to battle. The Guardians were among them."

"Guardians?" Dean asked, setting his sandwich back on the plate. "Like, Guardian Angels?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"And you're one of them?"

"You wonder why Uriel and I are so different. He is a warrior. I am not."

"So, when you said you weren't gonna perch on my shoulder, that was-"

"A bluff, I suppose you'd call it."

"Or a lie."

"I cannot lie."

Dean grinned. "Sure you can't." He picked up his sandwich again and took a bite. "So," he said around a mouthful of cold turkey. "Who're you guarding?"

Castiel met his gaze. "You."

He almost spit out his food. "Me? _Just _me?"

"You and thousands of others." The angel finally picked up his sandwich, sniffed at it.

"It's not gonna bite you," Dean said. "So, these thousands of others… you listen in on their thoughts, too, or am I just special?"

"I can stop, if you want."

He glanced down at his plate. He wasn't sure. The only reason he wasn't spending Thanksgiving alone was because the angel was in his head, wasn't it? The thought of having someone there whenever he needed him, whenever he _wanted_ him was too tempting.

"You see everything?" Dean asked. "You hear it all?"

"I only see and hear you. I block out my other charges. You are the main focus right now, Dean. You're important to me. You're intriguing."

"But if impure-"

"Nothing I've never seen before," the angel smiled. He took another bite of his sandwich. "This is good."

"Man, you should try a _real_ Thanksgiving dinner. I'm talking a whole turkey, stuffing, real potatoes, homemade gravy, jello salad, cranberry sauce, the works." He licked his lips, mouth watering just thinking about it. "I remember, back when my mom was alive, we'd have these big family things. Well, I mean, it was just the three of us, really, but it seemed big. Anyway, we'd all sit around the table and say what we were thankful for."

"Thanking God?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"You believed?"

"Back then, I really didn't have any reason not to."

"And what are you thankful for now, Dean?"

The hunter stared at him, trying to think. He didn't have much, anyway. He was free from Hell, but had been given an impossible job and countless threats to be sent back. He still had Sam, but his brother seemed distant. He had his own angel, apparently- one that was staring at him with wide blue eyes filled with curiosity and wonder and love.

Dean looked away, heart constricting. He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of it. He was thankful for everything he had, but that didn't mean that he should have it. He didn't deserve to be free and safe and loved. He didn't deserve a brother or a guardian.

"Dean?" the angel asked, concern apparent in his voice. "Are you all right?"

He looked back up. "I don't deserve…"

"Yes, you do. You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

Dean shook his head and looked back down at his plate. "I did bad things."

"We all have. Nobody's perfect. We all have flaws and doubts and-"

"I _kill_ things. I _tortured_ people. I _stabbed _you and you keep coming back and you stay in my head and you won't let me be alone when I don't wanna be alone. You should hate me."

"I'm not capable of hate."

"That sucks."

"It's quite nice, actually. All things deserve love, Dean. No matter how degenerate they believe themselves to be." He reached out and took Dean's chin in his hand, turning the hunter back to face him. "Now, what are you thankful for?"

"Everything." It came out as a whisper, soft and small and scared. "After Hell, it's like, everything's a blessing. Every breath and every breeze and every storm and even every scab because it _stops bleeding_. I'm thankful for everything."

They sat in silence, simply staring at each other for a moment. Finally, Dean blinked, drawing his eyes away from the hypnotic gaze, but keeping his chin in the soft grasp. "So, what are you thankful for, Cas?"

The angel smiled. "You."

* * *

Happy Thanksgiving!


End file.
